


The Third Anniversary of Hogwarts’ Battle and Harry Potter’s Victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

by daniko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Het, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s been two attempts against Minister Snape’s life. Unspeakable Hermione, Auror Potter and Chief Auror Black are called into the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Anniversary of Hogwarts’ Battle and Harry Potter’s Victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: “Silly school girl crushes. Basically, unrequited love at its finest.”
> 
> This piece started as a serious and dramatic character-study about what makes a relationship (Ron and Hermione’s). You’ll be happy to know that I won’t force that tragedy upon you. Instead, I bring you humour. I just couldn’t write unrequited Sirius/Hermione; Hermione deserves someone capable of going insane over her (wink, wink). On an ending tone, if you indeed trusted me just now, I’ll urge you to remember that nothing is quite what it seems at first. Enjoy!

There were few Wizarding holidays. Of those, the second of May was the one celebrated in the most subdued fashion around London. Not because of everyone who had died to make it possible, no. If there was something Wizarding folk appreciated was the fickleness of life _and_ death. They mourned, but they got on with their lives; mostly, they celebrated bravery and goodness of heart. Such was their ways. No, the reason why people were discreet was because they weren’t sure of their welcome.

For some reason, on the second of May, Harry Potter’s temper reached dangerous levels, rivalled only by that of the Minister – and _Severus Snape_ being the Minister, people tended towards caution.

Why Severus Snape became the Minister, one might only wonder.

If truth be told, after the war, the system turned slightly towards the martial law side of politics. The Order of Phoenix, in a vortex of grief and euphoria, was in no mood to explain their ways and simply bullied their opponents into compliance. And, if that was in any way similar to Voldemort’s agenda, no one seemed to notice. They had been smart. When Potter threw a tantrum at the suggestion of simply taking control of the Ministry, they had to play the game in a different manner. Everyone and their mother was familiar with Potter’s unfeasible idealism and his tendency to sulk if refused.

Rita Skeeter was quickly enrolled into the scheme, together with Xenophilius Lovegood, and soon the Wizarding folk were not only supporting the Order of Phoenix for the Office, as they were demanding Severus Snape’s own election. Of all people. Now, _that_ had been a surprise! One that turned out all right, all things considered, even if the Ministry was ruled with an iron fist these days.

In conclusion, the people who worried the most about the twin tempers of Potter and Snape were, logically, those who worked at the Ministry. And that was no small number. Elsewhere, people had their parties, their masquerades and dramatic plays, and stayed well away from the Ministry and the Muggles. Those at the Ministry had – and it was probably the reason for such dark mood – the Gala.

A gala where Potter and Snape had no choice but to go up into the podium and deliver a eulogy for the dead and a message of hope to the living – all that in front of foreign dignitaries, the Order of Phoenix and the _haut monde_ of the Wizarding world. One could guess which of them did what.

Only one would be wrong.

While Snape always snipped, “You give the hopeful message, Potter. Merlin knows I expect all of us to burn in a hell of our own making soon enough,” in the departments’ assembly three weeks before the Gala, what actually happened during the event was, “These hardships, the death of loved ones and one’s manipulative, infuriating, omniscient mentors, only make us stronger. _We_ defeated the Dark Lord, myself and Potter, together. If Potter and I can work together, all of us can do so for a better future. We shall thrive once more.” 

Potter would then follow up with, “Oh, Severus. That was so beautiful. I wish my mum could see you; and Remus and Tonks.” His eyes would well up then. “So many brave people died. Some so young. I know I was supposed to deliver a message of hope, but you already did and I—,” he would choke on his tears, “—they didn’t deserve it.”

The speech was far away yet, but such Gala was in fact, happening in this particular instant.

It was the Third Anniversary of Hogwarts’ Battle and Harry Potter’s Victory Over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Gala. (The name used to be longer, with Headmaster Dumbledore’s name thrown in for good measure, but they’d had to shorten it the second year, when Snape got drunk, misspelled it, then started weeping. And all this happened more or less after Potter’s speech managed to depress everyone in the room).

Needless to say, neither Potter nor Snape were particularly fond of the custom.

As for Sirius Black, he loved it; he thrived on Snape’s embarrassment, and nothing gave him more joy than taking his godson for comfort ice-cream afterwards. Even if Harry was over the age of needing an ice-cream chaperone, Black was not fussed over such things as age-appropriateness. Those reasons were usually the ones that brought him to the Dobby’s Gallery on this particular night.

(Not tonight, but that was beside the point at the moment.)

A curious fact about the gallery name was, no one dared to actually _explain_ it. Every time someone tried, or even just asked, usually ended up with Harry Potter’s lip quivering in misery and his eyes welling up. Lucius Malfoy, on another hand, got extremely red in the face whenever the subject came up. The result was that nobody actually knew who Dobby was, or what he had done to warrant a Ministry’s gallery named after himself.

The focus of tonight, however, was neither Malfoy’s mortification over the gallery’s name, nor Potter and Snape’s half-hearted attempts at keeping sober and on topic during their speeches. It wasn’t also Snape and Black’s running competition of who brought the handsomest, costliest harlot to the event – which Black was winning with the previous year’s Veela fiasco.

No, the focus of tonight’s event was the fact that the Minister Snape’s companion for the night was none other than Harry Potter himself.

And, oh! What sight that they made, Potter in deep-green silk and Snape in dark-purple velvet; Snape’s hand was yet to leave Harry Potter’s trim waist. If in the beginning of the night they were just a couple of “veterans supporting each other and defeating loneliness”, by the time dinner rolled along, Rita Skeeter was confiding – only in her most trusted acquaintances, of course – that they were “madly in love since Potter’s school days and Potter was ready to quit the DMLE and raise Snape’s bastard children” – of which the high society had only seen a two-year old blonde girl.

The plot was thickened, of course, by Black’s action. Never one to be outsmarted by Severus Snape, Black had brought his own beauty, none other than Hermione Granger, Unspeakable extraordinaire and the smartest third of the Golden Trio. While Potter and Snape were of an ethereal elegance together, Black and Granger were a down-to-hearth, handsome couple on their first date.

Some well-intentioned people – going by the names of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall – wondered if they shouldn’t have a talk with Harry and Hermione, warn them against the two perverts people had Merlin-knew-why elected for Minister and Chief Auror. One would have expected Sirius Black to keep his godson and Junior Auror partner away from Snape’s perverted clutches, but no. Everyone was fair game, it would seem.

Those who were not so well-intentioned, leaned back and decided to enjoy the show.

~Three Days Before the Gala~

For some reason, the Minister’s office had gained an uncanny resemblance to an illegal potions lab.

Somewhere along the way, between Kingsley’s interim tenure, which lasted a respectable period of five years, and the present day, a couple of mismatched bookcases and a worktable had make their way into what used to be an elegant parlour. The metallic ventilating system in the corner only made the decoration all the more picturesque.

Harry Potter sat in such an office, trying to ignore the ominous sounds coming from the cauldron on the fire while he waited for the DoM forensics department representative with his Senior Auror partner and the Minister, so that they could start the investigation.

“I know they gave you a perfectly serviceable laboratory downstairs in the DoM,” Sirius commented casually; out of habit.

Harry sighed. There they went.

“I do work for a living, Black,” Snape replied evenly. “I don’t sit on my arse all day, waiting for people to commit crimes and shouting a couple of orders when they do or the silence gets too heavy.”

Sirius lifted an eyebrow. “No, instead you—.”

“All right!” Harry interrupted hastily. Sirius glanced at him sideways and Harry gave him a look, and then said to Snape, “It always starts like this and it always ends in hexing. If you want to play, at least wait until after working hours.”

It was a testimony of how close they had become in the last years than instead of verbally ripping Harry a new one, Snape merely tsk-ed and returned to his work.

Sirius, on another hand, felt necessary to pick up the argument. “ _Play_ , Harry?” he repeated in disgust.

Harry rubbed his forehead.

“Interesting choice of word,” Sirius continued. “It makes one wonder about the sort of _play_ you mean. You’d know something about it, wouldn’t you? Not that I mind.” Even though it was obvious that he _did_. “It’s just that I have to pretend not to know what you’re getting up to, who you’re sneaking in at five a.m., and it gets tiresome. Because, you see, I always know. _Always_.”

Sirius couldn’t possibly have—but he had! He had said it. Sirius had to rub it in, he had to—It wasn’t like everyone and their mothers didn’t _know_ already. Sirius hadn’t felt sorry for Harry when Ginny dumped him, had he? No, he acted like it was Harry’s fault and had been in a mood ever since. This, in turn, only soured Harry’s own mood.

“Besides, back in the day, I’d have been thrilled if my Chief Auror trusted me with half the things I trust you with,” Sirius added, a bit resentfully.

Harry glowered. These facts, out of context, almost gave an outsider the impression that Harry did not appreciate his position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or that he was some kind of Malfoy ninny, milking his dramas for all they were worth. Harry was far beyond his sulky years. Not that he ever was _in_ them, mind you, but now he was definitely out. The issue at hand was, “You trust me to get your coffee and fill your paperwork, that’s what you trust me with!”

“It gives you experience with protocols. As for the coffee, consider it a favour to your godfather—.”

“Convenient how you get to choose when to be my godfather and when to be my boss, isn’t it?” 

Sirius Black smirked, with a tiny edge of spite to it.

Snape watched the scene keenly with a half-amused, half-annoyed expression.

“Aren’t you lucky?” Sirius drawled, after a moment. “Now get me my cuppa. It’s the least you can do, seeing as I’m going to give you your first independent assignment, you ungrateful brat.”

Harry didn’t move. “Right. What you want is someone to handle Hermione.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. “Why would I? I _like_ Hermione.”

“ _Oh_!” The three men looked up to see Hermione hanging in the doorway, looking pleasantly surprised. “That’s—that’s nice, Sirius. I like you, too.”

Hermione seemed to remember herself then, because she bustled in and started to lay files on Snape’s desk. “Sorry about the delay, sir,” she told Snape, “but we had an emergency exercise down there and I got stuck in the Time Room. Eh, time room,” she chuckled. “It took me a while to be able to get the results from the lab. We have identified the poison and the trigger in the first and second murder attempts, respectively, and have determined that the culprit must have been in the scene, otherwise he would have lacked the opportunity to—.”

“Wait a second, luv,” Sirius interrupted, leaning forward to see the reports. Hermione preened a bit. Harry rolled his eyes, as Sirius turned to Snape and asked, “You didn’t notice the poison in your firewhisky?”

“No. The poison was placed in the glass, not the drink. It was odourless, tasteless and activated by the alcohol in the beverage. If Draco hadn’t come back for his briefcase...”

Harry didn’t like the sound of any of it. He had grown rather fond of Snape lately. Draco? “Did Malfoy call the medics?” he asked.

Hermione lifted her head from the files to listen to the answer.

“No,” Snape said. “But the pause brought my attention to the change of colouration in the drink. I imagine the point was for me to finish my drink before the reaction became visible. Fortunately, I got distracted and, by the time Draco got in, the poison had reacted with the alcohol in the glass. Draco didn’t mention and I didn’t either.”

“What about the second attempt?” Sirius prompted.

“There was a small device pouring Befuddlement Draught into the warding stones in my home—.”

“Warding stones? They are not supposed to be sentient,” Harry said, recalling his early days of Introduction to Warding Devices back in the Academy. A subject Sirius taught, and, now that Harry though about it, he’d had almost failed. Like he had almost failed every damned subject Sirius taught, thanks to the double assignments he got from their oh-so-fair ex-Gryffindor professor.

That earned Sirius a glare, who frowned in confusion, but replied anyway, “Snape has been developing a special kind of dynamic, sentient wards with Bill Weasley,” he explained, gesturing towards the impromptu potions lab. “I imagine it didn’t go so well.”

“Well, it did. But, apparently, if the wards can discriminate who or what is a real intruder, then can also be Befuddled. My wards became belligerent and aggressive and attacked me.” Snape bristled, as if saying, “the cheek!” He continued, “I had been at home alone most of the day, only taking a short break to have lunch with,” he hesitated, “an old friend. The only company I entertained afterwards were the Malfoys, for supper. They left about two hours before the wards went off against me.”

“Who found you?” asked Sirius.

“My assistant, Dennis. I had asked him to come and get me in the next morning. I was at St. Mungo’s for a week after that.”

Now that his attention was focused, Harry realised how stiffly Snape was holding himself. “Well, they’re obviously talented with potions, but we’ll get them,” he said, firmly. “And you’ll just have to stay put.”

Snape scowled at Harry from over his spectacles – which from him might almost be called a look of fond exasperation. “I cannot ‘stay put’, Potter. The Victory’s Gala is in three-day’s time. Whoever decided that I’m superfluous will have me on that podium delivering a half-hour speech to their heart’s content.”

“Don’t do it, then. I can give the speech for you.”

“You’re suddenly very eager to give that speech,” Sirius snipped, but was ignored.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, Potter...”

“It can’t be done, Harry,” Hermione told him. “It would cause unnecessary panic. We’ll just have to either catch the assassin before then, or protect the Minister during the Gala.”

“Needless to say, this does not go beyond this office,” Snape added. “These _attempts_ ,” he sneered, “are obviously an inside job and, while I can protect myself, I’d rather not do it at anyone else’s expense.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Sirius put in cheerfully, getting up with a bounce. “I have Aurors Longbottom and Weasley on the case and they’ll report only to me.” He said to Snape, “I thought best to keep this one in the Family.” 

Snape nodded, an ironic smirk tugging at his lips. Harry was not sure if this was at Neville and Ron being referred to as family or merely at the colloquial term in which the old folk described those who belonged to the Order of the Phoenix. 

“I petitioned the DoM, as well,” Sirius added. “We’ll have Unspeakable Granger with us, as the forensic specialist.” He pulled her to his side by the shoulders and shook her playfully. Hermione slapped him in the chest in mock annoyance.

The behaviour was not at all unusual, quite the contrary, but Harry frowned at them. Then, something occurred to him. “Wait, what about me?”

Hermione bustled with her files and notes. “Well, Harry. Sirius and I talked about it and we thought it would be best if someone stayed with Snape. For protection.”

Harry turned in his chair to glare at Sirius. “A bodyguard job?” he demanded. “You gave Neville and Ron their first case—.”

“As a cover—!”

Harry crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “Well, then! You gave Hermione a whole lot of jobs and she’s not even an Auror, but heavens forbid you give The Vanquisher the same treatment!”

“I thought you didn’t want special treatment,” Sirius pointed out, crossing his arms as well.

“I don’t, but that’s exactly what you’re doing. I’ve not been in a case by myself ever since I joined the Auror Department. I’m quite capable of protecting myself. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I even did it those two years you decided to grace me with you presence—thanks for saving him from the Veil, by the way, _Hermione_!”

Admittedly, that had been a low blow. Harry instantly regretted it.

“Potter, enough!” It seemed Snape agreed. “Sit down, Black.”

Sirius sat.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean—sorry.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t that Harry had got the short-stick by having Sirius Black as his Chief Auror.

Sirius was practically a legend in the annals of the Ministry, going as deep as the Department of Mysteries. Back in the day, Sirius and Harry’s dad had been famous for the daredevil stunts they pulled as if they had devil’s own luck by their side, but present-day Sirius had an image just as picturesque as Mad-Eye Moody. That, with his nymphomaniac tendencies, his gambling vice, his drinking habits, and the fact that he had never failed to close a damned case made him quite the celebrity. And he had chosen _Harry_ as his Junior.

It wasn’t always that Harry was in such a giving mood so as to admit it – especially given Sirius’s impossible behaviour most of the time – but Harry knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He knew, in a way that people sometimes just _know_ things, that even if there had never been a prophecy, Voldemort, and a slimy rat going by the name of Pettigrew, Harry would have gone to Howarts, taken his NEWTs and ended up right in the Auror Division, being bullied by Sirius.

One knew these things when one mastered Death.

One also learned that there is no point in holding onto the what-ifs.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Sirius nodded stiffly. “Harry—you know I’d left the DoM faster if they’d—.”

Harry smiled sadly. “Sure. At least, you had Hermione. Really, sorry,” he added for Hermione’s sake.

“It’s all right. I’ve been a right berk to you since Ginny. But, Harry? This is Aurorship, got it? The importance of the cases is not sorted by difficulty, but by the trust it warrants.”

It was in moments like these that Harry had a glimpse into Sirius Black before Azakaban. It was a compelling sight, for all he was utterly charming the rest of the time.

“All right. What’s the story? People are going to wonder why I suddenly started to glue myself to Snape.”

Sirius flushed a little and clenched his jaw: clear signs of annoyance. “Hermione and I discussed the subject with Kingsley and thought it was probably more believable if you pose as his date for the Gala.”

“The what!”

“I beg your _pardon_?”

Sirius and Hermione exchanged looks. It didn’t sit well with Harry and it probably didn’t sit well with Snape either, because his face was reaching Vernon-levels of red.

“Black, you know...” They all did. Snape’s lover was not going to like it. “The head of the DMLE won’t not like this sort of publicity.” By that, Snape meant that Kingsley would re-start his nagging about Sirius and Snape’s choice of dates for the Gala.

“It’ll be just for a few hours,” Hermione said soothingly. “You two work well together. If there’s anyone who can protect themselves without hurting anyone else is the two of you. Just like during the war...”

Harry felt his face flame, a small smile tug at his lips. Hermione was always so kind—.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Miss Granger,” Snape said briskly. But his face was still red. Sirius snorted a laugh. Snape shuffled his paperwork and, when he looked up again, he was already composed. “Will you two pursue the investigation?”

Hermione nodded, all business again. “Yes. No one will bat an eye. We’ve had lunch together before. Tomorrow?” she asked, getting up and collecting her things. “Noon-ish?”

Sirius saluted her. “Of course, luv. Don’t forget to bring the drinks.” Hermione smiled and left. Sirius turned to the other two. “Well, I leave you now. You probably want privacy,” he added snidely.

Harry glowered. “I bet _you_ do,” he muttered, just as Sirius closed the door.

~The Gala~

Everyone was so focused on the spectacle going on with the main players of the Order of the Phoenix’s lobby, that no one noticed the dark character skulking in the shadows.

The night was coming to its climax and, in a typical farcical charade, this was when this character made his move, creeping slowly, with intent, towards the centre of the dance floor, where Sirius Black and Hermione Granger stood, side-by-side, holding hands and watching Snape and Harry ascend to the podium. It was unclear who, of the two wizards, was more wasted. They always got like this on the second of May. Most people came to the Gala purely for the entertainment factor.

Not this character, though, no. He moved quietly until they stood in front of the podium where Snape was making a spectacle of himself, waiting.

***

Hermione battled her eyelashes as she asked Sirius to get both of them a drink. Sirius had to try very hard not walk any faster than usual. An amorous Hermione was enough to send lesser men into shock. He didn’t think she’d gotten the wrong impression before, but perhaps asking her to be his date for the Gala might have done it. Shit, if Hermione didn’t kill him, Harry surely would.

Sirius was having a minor panic attack when Hermione appeared next to him, catching his arm and flashing a smile that was a bit on the side of un-hinged. “Hey. You were taking a while.” She pressed herself against Sirius’ side, and Sirius just about started hyperventilating. Looking around to see who was listening, he found himself looking into Harry’s narrowed eyes. Well, it would have had more impact if he hadn’t ol’ Snivellus hand possessively curled on the side of his shapely hips. Sirius held his gaze and glared in return. See if Harry got the hint!

When he turned to try to extricate himself from Hermione, he found her looking over her shoulder surreptitiously, all the while caressing Sirius’ back. He frowned. If she really wanted to woo him, she might as well pay attention, no?

It was when he was trying to follow her line of sight that he saw it. Smart, _smart_ girl! She had seen the dark-clad, hooded figure getting closer and closer to the podium. Sirius discreetly pushed Hermione out of the way, dodged the guests as he crossed the room and, caught in the momentum, threw a well-aimed Stinging Hex at who was presumably Snape’s would-be killer.

People screamed.

The hood fell from this character’s face and there was a collective gasp when the identity of the man was revealed: Draco Malfoy, gray eyes red-rimmed and blonde hair askew.

Couples held onto each other as the Weasleys moved into what Sirius labelled Battle Formation No.4 around Hermione, who had rushed to the site, eyes wide, hair bun loosening. The house-elves, the Ministry’s secret task force, popped into existence like midget ninjas, Japanese sai glinting in their hands.

Sirius kept his wand trained on the littlest Malfoy. “It’s been you all along. I suspected it,” he added triumphantly towards Snape and Harry. “It’s your pet student who’s been trying to kill you, Snape.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably behind Sirius. “Erm… Sirius—.”

“Hush, luv,” Sirius said before turning back to Draco. “I knew you desired your revenge, for everything that Snape did to your father and mother—.”

The littlest Malfoy looked gobsmacked. “What, _saved_ them?”

All around them people were moving, arranging themselves in a circle around the threesome in the centre and the ring of lethal house-elves.

Someone cleared their throat behind Sirius. “I have to say, dear cousin, logic was never your forte,” commented Narcissa Malfoy casually. Sirius glanced over his shoulder quickly. She was twirling her wand between her fingers, Lucius nodding in agreement from behind her.

“Shut up, Cissy,” Sirius growled, before turning to his little cousin. “We have evidence against you, Draco,” he added persuasively. “You were in Snape’s office when he was poisoned, you were in his house when the wards went off against him. You had the motive, the means and the opportunity. We’ve got your magic signature all over the poison and the warding stones. But, I agree, this is not about your family, no. This is about Harry Potter!” he declared triumphantly.

On the podium, Snape was blinking rapidly – as if trying to take as many mental snapshots of the scene as possible so he could make sense of it later – when the Muggle vodka finally seemed to have left his system. He swayed on his feet and immediately got a hold of the stand. “What? Why Potter?”

“Yes, Potter!” Sirius affirmed. “Draco has been carrying a torch for Harry since their Hogwarts’ days and, with those rumours we started lately, he decided to take Snape out of the picture and have Harry for himself. I mean, who wouldn’t want Harry all to themselves?”

Hermione sighed. “Look, Sirius, that’s not really—.”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I KILLS YOU!”

Sirius whirled around in alarm, just in time to see one of the little midget ninjas breaking formation and launching herself over Sirius at Snape on the stage, sai aimed right between Snape’s eyes. Harry, who had not, in fact, had a drop of alcohol the entire evening, stepped in front of Snape, whipped his wand and caught the little midget ninja in a bubble of energy.

His green eyes became wide with surprise. “ _Winky_?”

The tiny ninja struggled in her bubble, little fists pounding against the warmth of Harry’s magic. Sirius decided there and then that he and Snape would quit their Firewhisky-drinking competitions as of tonight. “I is going to _kills_ Snape!”

Harry didn’t even blink under the strain of her elf-ish strength. “Winky, _you_? But why?”

“He breaks Master Barty’s heart, Harry Potter. Winky must protect Master Barty!”

Harry blinked. “Winky... Barty is dead, right?”

Winky gasped and clutched at her chest, slumping against the magic bubble. “Noooo!” she howled. “No, no, no, nononononono—Winky failed. Winky failed master! Snape kills him! Winky is going to _kills_ Snape! ARRRRGHHHH—!”

With a wave of his wand, Harry silenced the creature. He turned to Snape with the blank expression Sirius learned to recognise from the Introduction to Warding Devices lectures. 

Snape didn’t look much better. “Erm... ” his voice broke; he cleared his throat and tried, “It would seem that the Butterbeer finally caught up with her and confounded her. The effects are not yet documented on house-elves’ brains.”

An agreeing murmur when through the crowd, everyone nodding, seemingly satisfied with Snape’s explanation. Except Sirius. “Wait! Just—wait. What did you ever do to Barty Crouch Junior?”

Snape flushed. “We might have—you know, at Hogwarts.”

It was a testimony to his degree of intoxication that Snape had simply answered Black’s question. At this point, it occurred to Sirius that it would be a fine day when they actually got a decent Minister.

“So, you broke his heart, is it?” Sirius demanded. “Typical,” he added bitterly.

Snape had the grace of looking contrite. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Harry look between them with narrowed eyes. “Oh,” he said, “I see. _Snape_ is the one who broke your heart! You told me—oh, trust issues, my arse.”

“Harry, wait—!”

With a flick of his wand – as it was protocol – Harry sent Winky to the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, and began stalking down the podium, past Sirius towards the exit. “Unbelievable!”

“Harry, I didn’t _lie_ to you! I just didn’t tell you—,” Sirius grabbed Harry’s arm when he passed by. “And, besides, who are you to say that? Haven’t you been jumping the fence with the littlest Malfoy over here? Or did you think I didn’t notice who you were sneaking into Grimmauld Place at wee hours in the morning when you were dating Ginny? Why else would he have come here, crying—.”

“It’s allergies!” shouted Draco.

At this point, Lucius felt the need to add, “It’s true!”

“— _crying_ ,” Sirius insisted. He had never bought that lie, not even back when Lucius and Cissa were dating. “For you to take him back and dump Snape. Harry! You’re becoming quite the— _ouch_!”

“Finish that sentence and a Stinging Hex will be the least of your concerns, Sirius Black!” It wasn’t Harry, but Hermione. “No one calls Harry names in front of me. _And_ ,” she added pointedly, “if you had been listening, you’d know that it isn’t _Harry_ who’s been sneaking Draco into Grimmauld Place.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s just that my roommates are some sort of bookworm hermits and we can never have some privacy and Harry lets me sleep over sometimes—.”

“ _Draco_!” came Narcissa’s shrill voice, sounding completely appalled. Sirius saw Harry clench his jaw, ready to defend Hermione’s heritage. “You—you’ve been lying with a woman out of _wedlock_?” She sounded as if she was about to faint. Draco flushed bright red.

Harry visibly started at that and looked at Sirius in confusion. Sirius just shrugged.

Lucius, on another hand, seemed stuck at, “You’ve lying with a _woman_? You’re not a homosexual?”

“Father! No, I’m—why would you even think I—?”

Narcissa was still having her minor breakdown. “Oh, shut it, my dear,” Lucius told her cheerfully. “The boy is not a ponce. As far as I’m concerned, he can lie with whomever he wants as long as I get little Malfoys! Say, Miss Granger—any chance of a pregnancy in the near future?”

“Father!” exclaimed Draco over Hermione’s embarrassing murmuring. “We’re not married. We’re not even together.” Allergies or not, Draco’s eyes seemed to be welling up. Sirius wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with Harry’s generation of men. “I came here today...” His breath hitched. “I know I’m nothing like him,” he gestured at Sirius, “but I—I really care for you, Mimi.”

Hermione gasped loudly and clutched her chest, before her filled with tears and she threw her arms around Draco. “Oh, sweetie! You just… you were so afraid of telling your dad and I—I’m sorry.”

Meanwhile, Sirius’ hand dropped from Harry’s arm and was holding his godson’s hand tightly. Snape joined them just as the spectacle was coming to a close. “I really thought she had a thing for me,” Sirius informed them.

“Indeed.” Snape lifted his drink at them. “You also thought Draco had a thing for Harry. Not the best of track-records, don’t you think?”

Sirius growled. “Really.”

Hermione seemed to have heard them and lifted her head from Draco’s shoulder. “That’s my fault.” She lowered her eyes, with a rosy blush coming to her cheeks. “I wanted to make Draco jealous. A bit immature, I know, but...”

“Fine, whatever,” Sirius said with a wave of his free hand. “I just want to know where Harry comes into this. I know what I saw and you were both interested in Harry,” he told Snape and Draco. “How could you not be? But, just because I get it, doesn’t mean you can mess with Harry.”

Draco looked horrified, Snape exasperated. “Black,” he said slowly, “the only one who wants Potter is, I’m afraid, yourself.”

“What! No, that’s not—.”

“It isn’t?” asked Harry quietly.

Sirius looked down at him to see flushed cheeks and hopeful eyes. Really, Sirius meant it when he said that anyone would want Harry. But, James and Lily… Then again, ever since Azkaban, Sirius became a man living hard and fast, because he knew – and had cause to know – that it didn’t matter who you loved or who you hated, only that you did the first more than the second. Well, there was nothing for it. He squeezed Harry’s hand reassuringly and stroked Harry’s fingers with his thumb. “You know what, luv? You and I, we’re alive. Let’s get some ice-cream.”

Few things were as sweet as Harry’s smile, then.

Not even what happened before they could leave the Dobby Gallery.

In a whoosh of Floo powder, Madam Rosmerta stalked into the dance floor, huge as a house, and grabbed Snape’s arm. “Didn’t you tell me that you were going to be home at midnight? And not even a bloody Owl! Do you think I enjoy spending my evenings alone with a little, evil Snape kicking my bladder from inside my womb, do ya? And with these threats on your life...! My children, orphaned!” She burst into tears. “What would I do without you, darling? I—I, I worry so much—.”

Madam Rosmerta could not continue, because Snape swooped down and claimed her lips in a bruising kiss. Madam Rosmerta purred and Sirius could not deny becoming a little aroused at the sight. Maybe he and Harry could... no! Harry had to be wooed first. Get a grip, Black!

“We’ll get married, my dear,” Snape said. “I’ll talk to Kingsley, and we’ll make an announcement.”

Further down the room, Draco had dropped to one knee. “Would you—would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Hermione squealed and launched herself at a grinning Malfoy. “ _Yes_! Of course, yes! Oh, this will be so good for the _baby_.”

That was when Narcissa fainted and Lucius rushed forward to embrace the newly-engaged couple, tears of joy in his eyes – or maybe due to allergies.

Sirius pulled Harry against his side. He had a plan. First, ice-cream, then, a shag, and, finally, maybe, in the spirit of the evening, he could also drop to his knees and pop the question that would make afterlife with the Potters akin to hell. Sirius knew something of hell. And Harry always made it better.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


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